


apples

by goldensprite



Category: Bleach
Genre: Amnesia, But He Gets Better, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Hueco Mundo Arc, Reincarnation, can be read as romance blooming, enemies to something else, i take it back i'd fucking love a beta reader please, kind of, let's pretend i know how a garganta works, no beta we die like the espada, or just becoming bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24489547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldensprite/pseuds/goldensprite
Summary: Grimmjow is exhausted after his fight with Ichigo in Hueco Mundo. He wanders, and finds ababeynon hollowfied Ulquiorra, who doesn't seem to remember much of anything.Mood for this is jaded and totally out of fucks to giveCan be read as pre relationship, or pre friendship. I'm not even sure which I want it to be.Rated T for all the swears.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques & Ulquiorra Cifer
Kudos: 12





	apples

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, 2009! Back when I was young and stupid and Cifer was still spelled Schiffer! And I was absolutely **gutted** by Ulquiorra's death in the manga. And I wrote this thing out of sadness. Spite? Grief. Something.
> 
> And then it just sat alone in a corner on my hard drive all this time? So I've cleaned it up a little and I'm ready to release it into the wild *makes shooing motions*
> 
> No beta because holy shit it's been like ten years, I know nobody in this fandom anymore. Also I haven't written anything in fuck knows how long, so please feedback me, thank you, have a nice day <3  
> PS - are there any tags I missed pls recommend

‘Fuckers…’

His wounds stung. There was dust under his eyelids, sand in his mouth. Cold air prickled at his body through the rips in his clothes. As always, there was blood.

‘Every last one of ‘em…’

His muscles felt like wet paper: it had been more effort than he could have imagined, raising his head to look at Nnoitra. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this tired.

‘I’ll kill ‘em all…’

It wasn't just his body, either. His thoughts seemed to be coming in slower. Weaker. On the periphery of his senses there was a nothingness, a heaviness, and he could feel it slowly closing in on him.

It would be so easy...

Grimmjow bared his teeth. He didn’t do easy.

Like this, he wasn't good for anything. That much he knew. Right now, he just wanted to... breathe a little easier. He didn’t want to feel the reiatsu raging nearby, didn’t want to hear that bitch whining for Kurosaki, didn’t want to hear Nnoitra’s pathetic boasts to whoever the fuck he was fighting now... didn’t even want to be under the same sky.

He ordered the muscles in his arm to _move_ , and raised his hand, pointing his finger into the air above him.

He tore a Garganta into the air, and heaved his aching body into another place.

* * *

Grimmjow opened his eyes.

His breathing was even and regular, and his wounds had closed over. His body still hurt and he was still drained, but he could at least move his limbs without feeling like he had broken glass under his skin.

He sat up.

After living for so long in Hueco Mundo’s permanent night-time, seeing a sun in the sky – a genuine, burning, heat-carrying sun – always felt a little disorienting. This one was setting. Had it been brighter when he’d got there? He couldn’t remember. He had no idea how long he'd slept.

He looked around, taking in the river in front of him and the soft grass around him. There were other beings nearby. He could hear them, smell them, sense varying levels of reiatsu. Was this the material world?

But when he focused in, he realized they were souls. None with enough reiatsu to merit any special attention. But still. Not people.

‘Is this... Soul Society?’

Grimmjow got to his feet and started to walk slowly beside the river, mindful of his broken mask and Hollow hole. If someone spotted him and made a fuss he had no clue how many Shinigami he’d have to fight off, and he didn’t feel like fighting.

Not yet.

He scowled, kicking the head off a flower in his path.

That asshole Nnoitra. Interrupting his fight, and actually having the balls to swing that ugly, pansy-ass weapon at him.

That bastard Kurosaki. Refusing to fight him, and then saving his life. Did he want a thank you for that? Fuck that. Fuck him.

Ulquiorra.

Grimmjow scowled, grinding the flower petals into the grass with his heel.

Ulquiorra fucking Cifer. Butting in all the damn time where he wasn't needed. Stopping Grimmjow from doing whatever he wanted. Like he was so fucking important.

And Tousen. Grimmjow would be sure to cut off _both_ that shithead’s arms. And his legs. And his dick, too.

And of course there was the grand master pigfucker himself. Aizen. What would he be doing right now?. It wouldn’t surprise Grimmjow in the least to find out that Aizen had fully intended to get the entire Espada slaughtered, even his special favorites, just so he could claim some tiny, stupid victory against Soul Society. Was he satisfied now? Grimmjow had never believed that Aizen told them the whole truth about _anything_. He'd never trusted him; even now, he couldn't fathom what the fuck the master plan was likely to be, or what the bastard's endgame even was.

He sighed, tilting his head back. The sky still felt all wrong - too much peach and pink and purple - but he liked watching the clouds shift and disperse, constantly reforming the sky into something new.

Thinking wasn't his thing; never had been. He hated this frayed, too-full feeling in his mind - too many pieces to fit together that seemed to go nowhere at all.

He put his hands in his pockets and started walking again.

Snatches of conversation reached Grimmjow’s ears as he ambled. It was so... humdrum. He would never have thought that Soul Society was like _this_. The Shinigami all had this stick-up-the-ass self importance, this fucking _righteousness_ , all the time. He'd expected something... something different.

This was just _normal._ Everyone was just... being.

Grimmjow stopped. ‘How come no-one’s tried to kill me yet?’ he wondered aloud. ‘Where are all the god-damn Shinigami?’

He'd walked so far that he couldn't hear or see anyone else around anymore. Everything was silent here, Hueco Mundo quiet. Closing his eyes and searching, he sensed some Hollows much, much farther away. Nothing actually worth notice, just some paltry Menos. They were scattered, clashing with weak Shinigami he could snap like matches. The souls here, he figured, probably had little or no skill at perceiving reiatsu, which must have been why nobody was freaking out. They were also too weak to be delicious, which was why none of the Menos had struck nearby.

Grimmjow kicked a few stones into the river, watching the ripples warp his reflection. Looking at his ragged clothes, he realized that his own reiatsu would have been pathetically low when he transported himself here. That was likely why none of the Shinigami had bothered him so far. Sighing, he contracted his still-depleted energy around him, concealing himself as best he could. He had enough of his strength back to deal with a measly Shinigami, but he still didn't really feel like fighting.

He didn't really feel like doing anything.

Because he was concentrating, he felt the familiar rending of air before he saw the Garganta open up a few feet away. A Menos stepped through.

‘The hell is it doing? There’s nothing interesting here.’

The Menos seemed to have a very clear agenda, though, and lumbered directly toward something Grimmjow couldn’t see.

Even recovering from a battle he could run faster than a stupid Menos, and he cleared the distance ahead of it, quickly reaching the lone figure that had to be its target: a short, slender man who had his back to Grimmjow. The Menos made a low noise, and the man turned around to see what it was. 

Grimmjow froze, his eyes snapping wide.

‘– the _fuck_ …?’

The man watched the Menos approach him, face blank - of fucking course it was fucking blank, when had it ever not been as empty and featureless as Hueco Mundo sand - hands at his sides. He didn't move, didn't even draw his sword - didn't even _have_ a fucking sword, Grimmjow realized.

The killing intent from the Menos flared, burning brighter.

‘Hey.' It was barely more than a rasp - his throat just wouldn't _work_. 'You... you!’

He wasn't sure what he'd even wanted to say, but it was enough - the pale man turned and his huge green eyes locked with Grimmjow's.

It had been years since he'd been a lone Adjuchas wandering the desert, but Grimmjow suddenly remembered struggling to walk on slipping sand, remembered the feeling of the ground opening up, remembered falling and falling in the dark.

The Menos was close enough to touch now and Ulquiorra looked up at it once more. He reached out, his hand moving closer to drooling teeth, his black hair rippling as the creature exhaled.

‘Shit!’

Grimmjow leaped, drawing his sword and decapitating the Menos before its jaws snapped shut.

Ulquiorra’s eyes widened as the creature disintegrated, his fingers closing around nothing. He was silent for a moment, staring at the vanishing particles.

‘What happened to it?’ he asked quietly.

Grimmjow gaped at him.

Ulquiorra stared at his palm for a while, then looked at Grimmjow, cocking his head to one side.

‘It… went away,’ Grimmjow mumbled.

The other man nodded slowly, seemingly thinking this over, then turned back to where the Menos had been.

Grimmjow mentally punched himself. Why the fuck had he just saved Ulquiorra Cifer? He should have let the damn thing just eat him. Wouldn't that have been just fucking sweet, really, this smug, self important piece of shit going down at the hands of a puny fucking Menos Grande that Grimmjow could have killed with his pinky finger? Wouldn't that have been just fucking perfect?

So why the fuck did he stop it from happening?

_Because it unnerved you_ , a voice whispered in his head, too quickly for Grimmjow’s liking. _The Espada become weaklings so easily in the end. You know that you could be just as weak, just as easily. You were._

_Almost_ , he bit back, and then cursed himself for admitting it.

_Besides_ … Another voice. Deeper, much older. Pantera growled softly: _You want to kill him yourself._

Grimmjow smirked.

So the bastard was dead now. He didn’t seem to remember Grimmjow in the least, so it seemed pointless to ask who had killed him. Kurosaki? That weird man with the bells in his hair?

Grimmjow sheathed his sword and Ulquiorra followed the movement. He studied him, slowly taking in the hole in Grimmjow’s abdomen and the scars on his chest, the broken mask and the blue marks beside Grimmjow’s eyes. Grimmjow regarded Ulquiorra with the same curiosity. His tear-tracks and his mask were gone - the horn of his mask had made him seem taller, more substantial, and without it he looked _tiny_. Without the tear-tracks his face seemed blanker than before. And yet, somehow, Grimmjow thought he still looked sad. The downturn of his mouth, maybe. Or just those fucking _enormous_ eyes. 

Ulquiorra’s stomach rumbled suddenly, loudly, and he clutched at it, frowning. He looked into Grimmjow’s face.

‘Do you know how to make that stop?’ he asked.

His voice sounded _nearly_ the same as it had been. It was as flat and toneless as Grimmjow remembered, but now it was empty of the assured, commanding weight it used to carry. When he spoke, Grimmjow had to fight the urge to shake his head, as if to dislodge something. Or to shake something back into place - was there such a thing as a phantom limb sense for sound?

As for his ridiculous question - had he really forgotten so much?

‘Eat,’ Grimmjow sighed. The weariness he'd felt earlier was creeping in again, making his bones ache.

But the fucker just tilted his head slightly. He didn't respond, simply watched him patiently.

Mad laughter welled up suddenly in Grimmjow’s chest; he choked it back.

‘Find some food.’

Shit, would he have to explain that too? ‘There,’ he said, pointing to a tree nearby. ‘Those red things.’

Ulquiorra turned and walked toward it obediently. Grimmjow pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered whether he was dreaming. Maybe he’d been hit on the head during that last battle and hadn’t even come to yet...

The reason he hadn’t noticed the fucker's relatively high reiatsu in the first place, he finally realized - not sure whether he should laugh or scream now that he knew - was because he had gotten so used to being around it.

Pantera's voice was almost a purr. _You could kill him right now._

Ulquiorra was under the fruit tree, reaching up, making his shirt ride up at the back. Even at this distance, his vertebra were visible - Grimmjow could have probably counted them, if he wanted.

‘Trash...’ Grimmjow mumbled. How could he kill someone as pathetic as this?

The bastard stretched his hand as high up as it could go, but he still fell short of the apple closest to him. His stomach grumbled again and he grabbed at it, looking distressed.

‘Here.’

Grimmjow held the apple out without looking at him. When he felt the other man take it he picked a few more, the image of the too-prominent bones under his skin strangely heavy on his mind.

When he'd gathered a good armful, Ulquiorra was sitting on the ground, stroking the apple gently. As Grimmjow watched, he started to turn it over and over.

Grimmjow gritted his teeth. He sat down across from the bastard, putting the fruit down between them. Snatching one up himself, Grimmjow took a bite, chewing for longer than he needed to until he saw Ulquiorra do the same.

He shut his eyes against the feeling that the whole world was shifting and twisting, until he heard a loud gasp.

_Fuck. If he's gone and choked, I'll..._

He didn't know what.

‘This is...’

Grimmjow exhaled. Ulquiorra's voice was softer than he'd ever heard it, but the fucker hadn't actually choked. That was something, at least.

‘This red thing is… good.’

Grimmjow glanced at him. There was juice on his chin and his cheeks, and flecks of red apple skin on his lips. But his face looked more alive than Grimmjow had ever seen it.

‘It’s an apple,’ Grimmjow told him.

‘Apple,’ he repeated, nodding. He finished it, core and all, and took up another, and another. 

Watching Ulquiorra made Grimmjow’s blood pound in his veins. He'd be angry if he didn't feel so utterly exhausted. He had almost ended up like this too.

Was Nnoitra dead? Grimmjow wondered if he was wandering this space too, lost and alone, pathetic and memory-less. The satisfaction he would take in killing the motherfucker would be greatly diminished, knowing that he would be just as blank a slate as Ulquiorra was.

Across from him, the bastard showed no indication of wishing to stop eating, and Grimmjow wondered just how long he'd gone without food.

‘Oi.’

His eyes met Grimmjow’s, the lower half of his face concealed behind the apple he was biting into.

‘How long have you been here?’

Ulquiorra seemed to think about this, chewing slowly. Eventually he just shook his head.

Grimmjow frowned. ‘How come you’re by yourself?’ The other souls he’d seen had all been clustered together in groups; he’d wondered if it was difficult for them to be alone, or something.

The other man just looked down. ‘I didn’t know what to do.’

That much, Grimmjow supposed, was true enough. Aside from his precious Aizen-sama, Ulquiorra had never spent much time in company. He probably hadn’t had any social skills to forget.

Ulquiorra wrapped his arms around himself, and Grimmjow realised that he was shivering. 

‘What did you do to stay warm before?’

But the fucker just looked at him.

Grimmjow sighed. He studied the ground around them and selected a piece of dry wood. Holding it up in front of Ulquiorra, he said, ‘Find some more of these things…’

* * *

When he woke up, the sky was dark and glittering with stars.

The fire was beginning to die down. On the opposite side, Ulquiorra slept soundly, his left cheek pressed into the ground, his mouth slightly open. He had been mesmerized by the fire: although Grimmjow had told him not to touch it, he felt sure that the bastard would do just that, first chance he got.

Grimmjow had stayed awake a little longer. Boring as Soul Society was, he had to admit it had much better skyscapes than Hueco Mundo. He'd stared at all the stars and the full, gleaming moon before falling into a sleep deeper and more satisfying than he'd ever known. His body felt whole and strong, and his mind felt still and sure. Since he'd first woken up here, he'd felt terribly off balance, and running into Ulquiorra - running into this Ulquiorra that wasn't Ulquiorra at all - had just made it worse. He felt much more like himself now. 

Getting to his feet, he took his time stretching, enjoying how responsive and limber his muscles felt. 

He scraped his finger across the air, opening the gateway once again.

‘What are you doing?’

The flat voice caught Grimmjow by surprise. He had thought Ulquiorra was dead to the world.

Looking over his shoulder he saw that the other man was kneeling, hands folded in his lap, watching him. Grimmjow’s stomach tightened. Ulquiorra’s hair was ruffled, and there was dirt smeared on his left cheek. He looked very... small.

‘Leaving,’ Grimmjow told him.

At this, Ulquiorra’s eyes widened, and he reached out toward Grimmjow, despite the distance between them. His hand hovered above the fire, his pale fingers cleaving the smoke into thin strands. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘This isn’t the place for me.’

Ulquiorra's lips parted, but he didn't say anything.

Grimmjow turned. He was inside the Garganta to the shoulder when the bastard’s voice touched his ears again, halting him: ‘Take me with you.’

His fists clenched. He disengaged himself and turned to face the other man. _‘What?’_

‘Let me come with you.’

He laughed - it made Ulquiorra's face crumple, and Grimmjow looked away.

But why _should_ he look away, he thought, suddenly furious at himself. Why should it bother him in the slightest? They were nothing to each other. When had they not been?

When he turned back, the fucker was still staring at him.

‘Why?’ he demanded.

For an instant the other man just lowered his head, before turning determined eyes back to him. ‘You’re my only friend.’

‘We’re not friends!’ Grimmjow snarled. He hadn’t thought it possible for that face to look even sadder.

‘You helped me.’ Ulquiorra stated it simply, as if it explained everything.

‘Yeah... well...’ Grimmjow trailed off, his anger deflating. He didn't actually have an answer for that.

Rising and walking around the fire, Ulquiorra stilled before him, searching his face. ‘Don’t you need someone to feed you too?’ he asked quietly.

‘What?' Grimmjow thought he must have heard wrong - looking into those too large, Ulquiorra-and-yet-not-Ulquiorra eyes unsettled him to his core. 'What are you _saying?_ ’

Ulquiorra reached out - Grimmjow stepped back when he realized he was aiming for his hollow hole, but Ulquiorra's fingertips just drifted in the air, not actually touching. He looked up, as if he wanted permission.

‘Don’t,’ Grimmjow growled.

The fucker drew his hand back to his side, looking away. After a long silence, he asked, ‘Who’s going to fill that for you?' 

The look on his face was not one Grimmjow would have imagined him capable of before. It felt like it had been a whole lifetime ago, a whole world ago, from this, here, now.

'You filled mine,’ Ulquiorra whispered.

The meaning of his words finally hit home, and Grimmjow could only shake his head. He felt weak - his words wouldn't come. He wanted to yell. He wanted smack the bastard across the head. 

‘This... this isn’t here because I’m hungry!’ he finally snapped.

‘It hurts, doesn’t it?’ Ulquiorra rested his hand on his own stomach. ‘Mine did too.’

‘I’m _not_ hungry.’

As if testing the weight of Grimmjow’s argument, the bastard actually scrutinised his face. ‘You look hungry.’

‘I’m not _hungry!_ ’

Grimmjow was panting now, fighting back the impulse to bare his teeth, to growl. The sheer ridiculousness of the situation made him feel like he was losing his fucking sanity. 

But…

This, at least, felt familiar. 

None of the other Arrancar had stirred his blood like Ulquiorra had. The others had mostly been too uninteresting; as much as he despised Nnoitra and Yammy, they had never got under his skin the same way. It wasn’t just irritation, anger, or rage; there was an extra dimension to the discomfort Ulquiorra had provoked in him, something at the corner of his eye that he could never quite see. He had no name for it, and that had fueled the itch even further. He’d felt sometimes that if they could go a little longer he could see what it was. If he could beat him, if Ulquiorra would actually fight a little longer and didn’t just fuck off to serve his precious Aizen-sama, he would see what it was. Grimmjow would always push for one more confrontation, feeling like he would grasp the situation eventually if Ulquiorra would just keep still for one more second, instead of just dismissing him, already moving on to his next thought.

Ulquiorra settled a hand lightly on Grimmjow’s shoulder, making him jump.

‘I saw this, while I watched everyone. For things that hurt.’

Before Grimmjow could parse what the fuck _that_ was supposed to mean, Ulquiorra leaned forward so his face was just inches from Grimmjow's hollow hole. Grimmjow _squirmed_ \- he should run, he knew. This was it. This whole thing was a ruse, and the fucker had been laughing at him internally this whole time but now he was going to finally just Cero him into nothingness.

But Ulquiorra - who, Grimmjow noticed, had a light dusting of sand on his upper lip, and leaves in his hair, and who smelled like apples and dirt - just shut his eyes, took a deep breath and blew several gentle puffs of air against him.

Understanding dawned as gradually as the clouds earlier had drifted across the sky. Grimmjow had seen this himself, in Kurosaki's world. A child had been wailing, so loud and so long that Grimmjow had wanted to blast the damn thing just to have some peace, until an adult blew on its knee, saying it would make the pain stop.

_Liar,_ he'd thought then. He didn't really know what he thought now.

After a very long moment Ulquiorra straightened up, filling Grimmjow’s swimming vision with deep green.

‘Do you feel better?’

Grimmjow blinked a few times. He felt like he was underwater; Ulquiorra's voice seemed to come from very far away.

‘Does it... does it still hurt?'

His voice was so... so small. _Nothing was wrong in the first place!_ Grimmjow wanted to scream. He wanted to bash Ulquiorra’s skull in, beat the little bastard senseless...

But looking at Ulquiorra’s concerned face, he knew that he could punch him, could run his sword through him, and Ulquiorra would let him. Probably ask him why he was doing it. What this weird feeling was called, what the red liquid was...

Knowing that only frustrated Grimmjow further.

Ulquiorra started to lean closer, likely wanting to try again. Grimmjow bit back a snarl. The stupid asshole would probably blow on anyone who looked like they were in pain.

An image flashed into Grimmjow’s mind: bruises and blood darkening that pale skin, his green eyes wide and sad but still curious, not understanding - it was to make things better, didn't it help? He'd try harder, so there was no need to be angry...

He snatched Ulquiorra’s wrist and turned back to the portal.

‘Come on,’ he growled.

‘You’re taking me?’ His voice was light - pleased in a way that made Grimmjow's stomach tighten.

He just nodded. He didn't have a plan, didn't have any reason he could think of for doing this, didn't have any reason he could think of for _not _doing it, either. But somehow, that didn't burden him as much as he thought it would. He hadn't fully grasped it before, but being a pawn in Aizen's stupid, fucked up game had exhausted him in a way he didn't know how to fix. Maybe not having a plan, not being a part of anything, was just what he needed now.__

Grimmjow felt Uquiorra move a little; he was about to let go of him - he hadn't even realized he was still holding on - when Ulquiorra turned his hand, keeping it within Grimmjow's grasp, until he was able to wrap his fingers around Grimmjow's own wrist, holding on firmly.

‘Thank you...’ Ulquiorra hesitated, tilted his head to the side. ‘Do you... have a name?’

Grimmjow chewed on his lip for a second, and then told him.

‘Grimmjow.’ Ulquiorra repeated it, nodding seriously. ‘I don’t have one.’ He said it lightly; it didn't sound like a complaint.

Serving Aizen had come easily and naturally to Ulquiorra, in a way Grimmjow could never fathom. Would he miss it? Did he? Had he ever wanted something different for himself?

Grimmjow took a long, slow breath. 'We can look,' he said carefully, 'until you find one.'

Was that wrong? Was hiding his old name a way of taking something away from him, or was it giving him something else?

He sighed deeply. This was too much thinking. Better to just get moving.

He pulled the other man closer - he really seemed to weigh nothing at all - until they were side by side, both facing the Garganta. ‘This... here. There are...' Fuck, how could he explain this? It was something he just _did_. 'There's different places in here. Just... focus. Pick one.’

‘I pick?’

‘Yeah.’

Ulquiorra frowned at him. ‘What if I get it wrong?’

Grimmjow almost laughed. The Ulquiorra from before would never have even thought such a thing. He shrugged. ‘We’ll try again.’

Ulquiorra's face when he was serious and concentrating looked the same as it ever had. The Garganta flickered, and _somewhere_ came into view.

‘Is it okay?’

Grimmjow shrugged again, studying the realm Ulquiorra had called up. It was neither Kurosaki’s world, nor Hueco Mundo. He was surprised to find that knowing this made him feel lighter.

It also meant that there were unknowns. Technically both of them were dead, so they might not be visible to a great number of people there. They might be feared. They might end up-

‘Will there…?’ Ulquiorra hesitated.

‘What?’ It came out sharply, and he regretted it, and then kicked himself for regretting it. _We're not friends,_ he thought, though the idea felt less solid than before.

‘Will there… be apples there?’

Planning had never been something Grimmjow did, and he didn’t really feel like starting now.

‘Maybe,' he said. 'Probably. We’ll see.’

Ulquiorra’s eyes strayed to the apple tree.

‘We can always keep looking.’ Now that Grimmjow thought about it himself, it didn’t seem like a bad idea at all.

Ulquiorra smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. When Shinigami purify hollows, they most likely appear in Soul Society as babies, not just, like, more smol versions of themselves. And Ichigo didn't destroy Ulquiorra as a Shinigami, so probably he wouldn't have been reincarnated at all.  
> I also know amnesia likely wouldn't make you forget the concept of food? I also also know it's highly convenient that absolutely fucking nobody noticed Grimmjow napping by the riverbank. I know that's not the only highly convenient thing going on. I _know_.  
> 2009 me didn't care, I suspect. Forgive her - she wanted a happy ending. This is dedicated to that person, gods help you, you dumb, overwhelmed, struggling piece of shit <3


End file.
